


Ensnared

by RachelisTheWendyBird



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Male Slash, Reveal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3525158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachelisTheWendyBird/pseuds/RachelisTheWendyBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I never used to ship Severus and Harry (aka Snarry) or even like it, but then I got this idea for a fanfic and it wouldn't get out of my head, so I decided to start writing it and look at other works and what can I say, now I kinda love it! </p><p>This story starts during Harry's fifth year (OotP), around February. So after Occlumency lessons with Snape have started, and after Harry's disastrous date with Cho Chang, and before the Quibbler article containing Harry's private interview with Rita Skeeter comes out. I have no idea how many chapters there will be, but I plan to end it just after Snape's death (if I can stay motivated…I hope I do!). So without further ado, I hope you enjoy!</p><p>(If I get anything off about the timeline/order of events at any point, please tell me so I can fix it)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Falling of Small Stones

Dinner was a brooding affair that evening. Harry stared coldly down at his potatoes, smashing them as though they had done him a great personal wrong. He had a mountain of homework, his scar was prickling, and Cho was still avoiding him. On top of all that it was Wednesday, which meant…

“You have your Occlumency lesson tonight, don’t you?” Hermione said, voice pitying as she tried to discretely slide the plate of pulverized potatoes out of his reach.

“Yes,” Harry answered tersely.

Ron groaned sympathetically from his place across the table, and Harry grimaced back at him.

“Are they getting any better?” Hermione asked.

“No,” quite the opposite. 

“You just need more practice,” she said reasonably.

Harry tried not to glare at her. Easy for her to say; she wasn’t the one who had to descend down into the chilly dungeon and have her mind splayed open for Snape to enjoy at his leisure. But she was only trying to be helpful.

“I swear it’s like he enjoys it!” Harry said. “Damn sadist.”

“I’m tellin’ you, if anybody deserves a good old-fashioned prank it’s him. Something really nasty, like puking pastels in his tea or buoebotuber puss inside his robes. I bet we could pull it off, I could ask Fred and George…”

He trailed off, letting the pleasant daydream sit deliciously between them. Harry smiled in thanks; he doubted even Fred and George could pull something on Snape, but the thought could get him through the grueling sessions all the same.

“I better go,” he said, gathering his schoolbag and climbing over the bench. “Lateness means and extra grueling first round.”

“Good luck, mate,” Ron said, waving him off with Hermione.

Harry walked gloomily down the stone steps to the dungeons, feeling the temperature drop with each step. Honestly, how could anyone live in such a place? All too soon he arrived in front of the Potion Master’s door and, with a sigh, knocked. 

“Enter,” came the greasy voice from within. 

With mounting dread, Harry pushed the heavy door inward to reveal Snape’s office, with its cold brick and shelf upon shelf of jars containing myriad sinister contents. Snape himself sat at his desk, quill in hand, hunched over a stack of essays. Harry stood silently in front of the desk, staring down at the man full of loathing. After a few minutes Snape put down the quill and looked up at Harry with his black eyes, hands folded beneath his chin.

“So,” he said. “Have you been practicing clearing your mind before bed?” he asked.

“Yes,” Harry lied.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, _sir_.”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” Snape said with a thin lipped smile. 

He stood, drawing his wand from beneath his black cloak and advancing on Harry. Harry stood still, fighting the urge to draw his wand prematurely. He braced himself, ready for the blow…the sudden invasion of his mind.

“Legilimens!” Snape cried.

A hundred dementors were gliding towards him across a frozen lake. Uncle Vernon was dragging him by the neck and throwing him into the cupboard under the stairs after some unexplainable phenomenon. He lay upon the ground beneath a baking sun, gazing up through the leaves of wilting rhododendrons, listening to the news waft through the open window. Cho’s angry, tear-stained face disappeared through the door of that horrid teashop.

“It’s like you’re not even trying,” the derisive voice pierced through the jumbled memories as they faded, leaving behind a sweating, panting Harry.

“Maybe I could,” he said through clenched teeth, “if you would actually _teach_ me!” He glared daggers at Snape.

A sneer was all he got in response before being plunged back into garbled memories. When Snape finally let up again Harry stumbled forward and would have fallen on the hard stones if Snape hadn’t caught him; he’d taken to doing that their past several lessons—always letting go quickly as possible—though why Harry couldn’t see why. Perhaps Dumbledore had taken pity on him and ordered Snape to extend some courtesy. In any case, Harry didn’t miss the intense bruising. And at the moment he was too distracted by the image of Cedric Diggory’s dead body that still swam before his eyes to speculate much. Shaking with intense emotion, he looked up at Snape and noticed—again, not for the first time—the potions master was shaking too. In rage? Excitement? Frustration? Harry didn’t know. Before he could utter a word of protest Harry saw the wand point into his face once again, and heard that damned curse echo through the dungeon.

He was nine, crying alone in his cupboard. Then he was twelve, walking through Hogwarts in isolation when everyone thought he was the heir of Slytherin. The mirror of Erised containing his parents appeared, and he felt anew the anguish of being unable to touch them. The mirror dissolved into a horrible, skull-like face with gleaming red eyes and slits for nostrils. The fear and pain were as sharp as that day in the graveyard, as the slim white finger reached up to brush his face. Harry cried out, dimly aware of his real hands reaching forward instinctively, searching for help. Please, let it stop soon…let him stop.

But that wasn’t what happened; instead of the slow drag back to reality to find himself sprawled on the ground, Harry was shocked immediately to full consciousness by the inexplicable sensation of Snape’s lips on his. Harry sat there, utterly stunned, his eyes wider than anatomy should have allowed. He would have fallen over if it weren’t for Snape’s tight embrace; one hand gripped his waist, the other his neck, tangled painfully in his hair. Though the kiss only lasted a couple of seconds, it seemed an eternity to Harry. Then Snape jerked his head away, shoving Harry violently from him and jumping back as though burned. The intensity of Snape’s gaze as he turned his wand upon him again was enough to keep Harry frozen where he had fallen.

“Legilimens!” he screamed.

Harry’s mind was pierced again, but this time all the memories that flashed before his eyes were memories of Snape; the first time he’d laid eyes on him at the staff table, his first potions lesson where the professor had grilled him with difficult questions about the subject, the glares he’d received from across that same classroom, the swirl of black robes as he swept down the corridors.

Once again Harry was shocked back to reality by Snape’s kiss, this time his hands clutching his face. It lasted longer, and this time Snape drew back slowly, and Harry found himself staring into black eyes that were hardly recognizable through their haze of what Harry foolishly wanted to call…pleasure? When those swimming, dreamy eyes focused on Harry’s however, they widened and were suddenly full of the same shock Harry felt. Snape leapt backward again, backing up until he was pressed against his desk. He stood there trembling, eyes popping, as Harry stared back in utter bewilderment. 

“Get out!” Snape screamed, but his voice didn’t sound angry; it almost sounded frightened. 

Harry suddenly found his legs and leapt to his feet, sprinting out of the room, up the corridor, and all the way to Gryffindor tower. After stammering out the password he stumbled into a blessedly empty common room. There he collapsed into an armchair and sat, curled up, while the shock slowly wore away. But even when the trembling had stopped and his breathing back to normal, he couldn’t think clearly; he couldn’t imagine any rhyme or reason to Snape’s behavior, nor could he decide how he, Harry, felt about it. He was just…numb. After what seemed like hours of rumination there was only one thing that seemed clear for him to do; and that was to practice Occlumency.

So Harry stood and climbed the stairs to the fifth year dormitory. There he routinely pulled on his pajamas and climbed into his four-poster bed, pulling the curtains closed around him. As he lied there, he tried to clear his mind of all thought and emotion, create a blank sheet to protect him while he slept, just as Snape had said. But as usual, he failed at the task; that night, all he could think of was the feel of Snape’s lips on his.


	2. Mortification in its Purest Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the title is any indication, nobody is very happy about what happened in the dungeon. But how will they continue, and what will they do when next they meet?

It had started out like every other night Snape had spent instructing the boy in Occlumency; the cold stares, the angst, and his own mounting excitement as he raised his wand, relishing the flood of memories. And so what if he enjoyed it? He’d always had a somewhat twisted sense of humor; this wasn’t any different.

But the passion Snape felt growing with every session didn’t quite match up with that assumption. Snape wondered at the difference for a long time, and eventually realized it wasn’t the pain or frustration inflicted that he enjoyed, but rather the memories themselves, the contact; he relished watching the boy’s memories play out before him, both the good and the bad, in that space where there was no pretense, no holding back. And one day he realized he lived for the moments he and the boy spent confined together, alone in the dungeons. The realization frightened and enraged him; what on earth could these emotions mean? He decided to ignore them, repress them deep down and pray they never surfaced. 

Unfortunately, Snape hadn’t been entirely successful in this venture. The feelings would surface, growing stronger with every lesson, leaving him shaking with rage by the end of them. And recently he’d found himself darting forward to catch the boy as collapsed under the strain of relived memories. And he despised how much he enjoyed the short moments of contact. But he didn’t think any harm would come of it; he had enough rage and loathing to keep inexplicable emotions at bay. But then he’d lost control, and gone too far…

“What the hell, Severus? You damn fool!” Snape cursed himself as he stood trembling, backed up to his desk. 

A kiss. A _kiss_! Where the hell…what the…how…? Snape’s normally articulate mind was in utter disarray because try as he might, he couldn’t explain the act away this time. And he was filled with horrified self-loathing because oh _god_ had he enjoyed it!

With a wordless expletive he turned and slashed an arm across his desktop, knocking its contents to the floor. Then he fell heavily into his chair, pressing his hands hard into his face, wondering what on earth to do. Should he stop the Occlumency lessons? No, Dumbledore would ask questions, and Snape had no explanation (that he was willing to give) for that. Should he use obliviate, and make Potter forget what had happened? No, that could be dicey…and the chances of a witness or obvious side effects were too high. Perhaps…he could just continue on as though nothing had happened. It occurred to him that Potter might stop coming to the lessons himself. The thought filled Snape with such inexplicable anguish that he leapt to his feet in flaming rage.

“WHY?” he shouted as he hurled the nearest glass jar into the far wall. He threw another, and another, and another, before finally sinking to the floor, shaking again. Dammit all, why did he feel this way? He _hated_ the boy! That privileged, smart-arsed, arrogant child! The boy with Lily’s eyes in James Potter’s face, a walking reminder of what he had lost. Those beloved, mocking eyes…that beautiful, damned face! That sassing tongue that he longed to taste…

_“Damn!”_ Snape hissed, slamming his fist into the side of the desk and immediately regretting it when the pain shot through his hand. He clutched it, trying to calm his ragged breathing. But his cool composure evaded him. First, he would have to face the truth. Snape couldn’t lie to himself anymore, because like it or not, he had some sort of…attraction to the boy. Tears brought on by pure frustration and inner turmoil fell down his cheeks, and he cried out. Snape had never expected to feel any sort of connection to anyone after Lily. If he was honest with himself, he had wanted to. He wanted to, but—

“But why did it have to be _him_?” he cursed.

***

For the first time in a long time Harry didn’t dream of the mysterious door at the end of the long, dark corridor. Instead, his dreams were filled with the image of Severus Snape; he wove in and out of focus, sometimes blurred and distant, sometimes sharp and clear, always cloaked in black. The potions mastered had featured in Harry’s dreams before, but these were different; he wasn’t angry or sneering or causing him distress. In fact, the dream had a pleasant tone, which was unsettling. Harry felt as though he were floating, Snape’s eyes were void of the intense loathing they usually held, and the kiss was relived again and again.

Harry awoke slowly, still wrapped in the contentment of his dreams, smiling a bit as he felt the morning sun stream through the window. Then the limbo between sleeping and waking dissolved, and reality came crashing down on him like a blow from the Whomping Willow. 

He sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp, fully awake and definitely no longer numb.

“You alright mate?” Ron asked.

Harry looked around to see his best friend pulling on his robes. He was looking at Harry with concern. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, “nightmare.”

But it hadn’t been a nightmare; that was the most disturbing thing about the dream, he thought. Any dream in which Snape featured should by all rights have been a bad one. But worse than that was the fact that he, Harry, had enjoyed it…he closeness, Snape’s pleasant face, and reenacting their kiss over and over again. And after some thought, Harry was quite certain that he’d actually enjoyed the real kiss as well. The thought caused his mouth to curl into a disgusted grimace. 

Harry stood and hurried into the small washroom inside the dormitory, bolting the door behind him. He was greeted by his surly reflection in the mirror; brows furrowed, eyes glaring, grimace still in place. He placed fingers to his agitated lips, going over that moment in the dungeon again and again in his mind, and to his intense surprise he couldn’t seem to feel repulsed by the idea of kissing Snape. The disgust he felt was at _himself_ , because he’d _liked_ it. But why? He hated Snape, or so he’d thought. Harry stared hard at his reflection, trying to remember his first impression of the man back in first year. It had been…curiosity, he was pretty sure. Intense curiosity and a little trepidation. Then once it had been proved beyond a doubt that Snape hated him, he had felt…distress? Yes, because he’d expected Hogwarts to be a safe place where he could escape the constant loathing and cruelty he experienced at Privet Drive. Then of course the needling and bullying and torment had stacked up and quickly caused Harry’s mutual hatred of Snape. But through his introspection, Harry realized—to his intense surprise—that the curiosity he initially felt still lingered underneath the hatred. 

“So what is your deal, Severus Snape?” Harry whispered to his reflection. “Because clearly you don’t hate me as much as you seem so determined to prove.”

Harry grinned a devious grin, because here, finally, he had found one of Snape’s well-hidden weaknesses. He could very well play this to his advantage…

The grin faded from Harry’s face. No, he wouldn’t do that, because it would make him no better than Snape, or any Slytherin for that matter. 

“But that’s hardly my biggest dilemma.”

Harry remembered the kiss again, and unwittingly let it grow into a fantasy of lips and teeth and tongues and—he grimaced with disgust again and snatched up his toothbrush, trying to scrub the taste of it from his mouth. But like any disturbingly pleasant sensation, it wouldn’t be washed away. So instead he swept from the bathroom and dressed at top speed, trying to fill his mind with things like Quidditch, DA lesson plans, even homework, anything to keep his mind off of Snape.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Ron asked again.

“I’m fine, Ron,” Harry said rather loudly, while lacing his trainers up so quickly he almost tied his fingers down. “I’m just really hungry.”

Ron considered him for a moment, then shrugged. “Well let’s get down to the Great Hall then!”

The two of them hurried down into the Great Hall, where most of the students had already gathered for breakfast. The enchanted ceiling showed a grey, drizzly sky. They found Hermione at the Gryffindor table, scrutinizing a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ while sipping her pumpkin juice.

“Anything about me in there?” Harry said with dull sarcasm as he sat down across from her. 

“It doesn’t look like it, no,” she said.

“That’s good,” Ron said brightly, helping himself to generous amounts of eggs and sausage. “Now, about that Charms homework…”

Harry just listened as Ron and Hermione talked about the Charms homework, only an occasional sharp word being exchanged (for a change). Harry was too preoccupied with his own inner turmoil to participate. Never mind his own entangled emotions, what was he going to do when he saw Snape again? After all, that was unavoidable; he had potions that day right after break. What should he do about the, er, situation? It occurred to him that he could probably just stop going to Occlumency lessons and not too many questions would be asked…he was fairly certain Snape wouldn’t care (or at least he would have been until last night). But it also occurred to him that Snape probably wanted to forget the incident as well...and he realized he didn’t really want to stop the Occlumency lessons. He tried to pin that feeling on his devious side wanting to get back at Snape. After all, he didn’t get a lot of opportunities to get back at Snape for all the torment he caused. Harry decided he would test the potions master; after class, he would hang back until they were alone and offer to pretend the whole incident never happened, and see what he said. With a satisfied smile, Harry reached over to smear strawberry jam on his toast. As he brought it to his lips, he suddenly realized something—

“Voldemort!” Harry blurted out.

“What?” Ron and Hermione said together, staring at him in mutual confusion. 

“My dream…” Harry said, staring off into nothing. “It wasn’t about Voldemort.”

“But you said you had a nightmare,” Ron said.

“I—I did,” Harry said, looking at him. “But it wasn’t about Voldemort.”

“So…you weren’t seeing into his mind? It was just an ordinary dream?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, I suppose you could say that.”

“But…but that’s wonderful, Harry!” Hermione said.

Harry stared at her. She was beaming at him from across the table.

“Er…what do you mean?” Harry asked. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” When Harry didn’t answer, she rolled her eyes and continued. “It means that the Occlumency is starting to work. You’re finally getting the hang of it! See, I told you it would be worth it in the end!”

Harry frowned pensively, thinking about what she’d said. She was right, he thought, but…

“Well I don’t think there’s cause for a celebration quite yet,” he managed to stammer out through his third or fourth revelation of the day.

…what did that mean? He had certainly been unable to clear his mind last night. In fact, quite the opposite. But perhaps…perhaps that was the answer; instead of being about clearing his mind to blankness, it was about finding something stronger than Voldemort, more important than Voldemort. But that would mean…

Harry stood up quickly from the table, mumbling a half-hearted excuse before walking briskly from the hall, not caring that he would be very early for Charms if he left now. Because he was having yet another revelation:

Loss of any kind is painful. Even when what you’re loosing is a feeling as painful and draining as hatred, you still try to cling to it, because without it you feel confused and strangely empty. That’s why all the villains he’d every read about in stories resisted redemption; they didn’t want to loose the hatred they’d held for so long, because what would they do without it? How could they ever be ready to embrace what would replace it? Harry was loosing his hatred for Severus; he could feel it leech slowly from him with every step—however hard he tried to cling to it—to be replaced by a feeling he wasn’t yet ready to name.


	3. Blackmail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Snape meet again in potions class, and Harry lingers afterwards to speak to him. What will he say? And how are the two feeling about the "incident?"

The morning passed rather uneventfully, or so it seemed to Harry; for all he knew, everyone could have suddenly dyed their hair purple and Draco proposed to Hermione, he was so preoccupied. And as Harry sat by the fire during break, he was only dimly aware of Ron and Hermione’s idle talk. He didn’t even notice Fred and George showcasing their latest joke-shop item until Hermione started shouting at them. After a moment’s grinning at the new “mature” fake wands, he checked his watch; five minutes to go. Anticipation rose in Harry’s stomach, giving it that burning, tingling feeling he was quite familiar with. He reached for his school bag and started to cram his books and quill into it.

“You seem rather eager to get to your classes today,” Hermione remarked.

Harry looked up to see her eyeing him quizzically, arms crossed. He cast his mind about for an explanation, but he couldn’t think of anything good.

“Er…I-I just want to get this day over with, that’s all. I’ve…got a lot on my mind.” Weak, he thought. But it was the best he could come up with.

“Is this still about Cho?” Hermione asked, eyes softening. “If it’s really that important you should just talk to her—”

“Ah, leave him alone,” Ron said, coming up behind her. “C’mon, we’d better get going anyway, don’t want to be late.”

So all three of them gathered their bags and stepped through the portrait hole. Hermione walked swiftly, nose buried in the essay that wasn’t due until the next Monday. Ron gripped Harry’s arm and slowed their pace, letting Hermione pull ahead. 

“Hey, I know you have Hermione fooled,” Ron whispered, “but you can’t fool me. Whatever you’re thinking about, it isn’t Cho.”

Well, he was certainly right about that. Whatever feelings he’d had for her had (quite recently) evaporated. But there was no way he was telling Ron—or anybody else—what had replaced her in his mind. So he said nothing.

“So c’mon, out with it. I know something’s been bothering you.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Harry said somewhat tersely. 

“Ohhh, I see…is it Umbridge again? Or is it Snape this time?”

“No, neither of them are bothering me, at least not any more than usual,” that was mostly true. “It’s my own, _personal_ problem, all right? So just drop it will you? You know, I’m getting a bit tired with everyone always asking ‘how I’m feeling,’ or ‘if the nasty teachers are bothering me!’”

Harry’s voice was rising now, and in front of them Hermione slowed and looked back over her shoulder, making obvious eye contact with Ron.

“Honestly, it’s as though everyone thinks I’m made of glass,” Harry muttered, face red from his sudden loss of temper.

Thankfully (and wisely, Harry thought) neither of them pressed the matter. Honestly, why did everyone think he couldn’t hand anything? Snape never treats you like you’re made of glass, a small voice in Harry’s head said. He tensed up at the thought; so now it was not only curiosity, but gratitude that he felt for Snape? Harry was saved from dwelling on this by their arrival outside the potions classroom, where most of the Slytherins had already gathered. Draco was a few feet away, lounging with his back against the stone corridor, one leg up like a flamingo, looking cocky as ever. As soon as he saw Harry he began his usual taunting, but the Daily Prophet hadn’t provided him with any new material, so Harry easily ignored it. Just as Pansy Parkinson and her gaggle of Slytherin girls were giggling over something that wasn’t even remotely funny, Severus Snape swept down the corridor, his usual black cloak billowing out behind him as he walked. He paid Harry no attention, but as he passed by the latter felt his stomach jump up into his throat, and a tingling sensation down his arms…like Quidditch nerves, he thought.

“Settle down,” Snape said silkily as he unlocked the door and pushed through into the dark classroom beyond.

As the class filed in Harry peered over their heads to watch Snape as he sat at his desk. The latter didn’t look up, and seemed to be avoiding catching his eye. Harry then glanced at the door off to the right that led to Snape’s private office, which sparked the memory of what had happened there last night to replay in vivid detail, which caused Harry’s stomach to twist itself into a most impressive pretzel shape. He gulped; he hadn’t expected the room to be such a memory trigger. He stumbled towards his seat, trying to ignore the feelings and colliding with a corner of the desk in the process.

“Today you will be brewing a potion to cloud memories. Similar to the spell ‘obliviate,’ but less precise and less complete in its eradication of the memory. Instructions are on the board,” he flicked his wand at the chalkboard, “ingredients are in the cabinet,” then at the store cabinet. “Begin.”

The potion wasn’t too complex, but the vapors tended to cause confusion if you didn’t stay focused. Twice Harry had to stop himself from adding the wrong ingredient. Now he had picked up his phial of Lithe River water and was about to add a few drops to his baby blue-colored potion when out of nowhere a pale hand snatched hold of his wrist. Harry’s head jerked up and his eyes feel on Snape. He stared down at Harry with unreadable black eyes, lips curled into something that was half sneer, half amused grin.

“Not so fast, Potter,” Snape whispered so only Harry could hear. “You mustn’t add the second dose of Lithe until you’ve stirred the potion four times.”

Snape released Harry’s wrist but stayed standing behind him, watching over his shoulder. Heart racing, Harry stirred the potion four times, then added the drops of Lithe. The potion immediately became a cloudy white, thick steam flowing from it as though he’d dropped a chunk of dry ice into it. 

“That’s it,” Snape said, so quietly that Harry wasn’t sure he’d heard him, then stalked away.

Harry stared down at his completed potion, which was almost as good as Hermione’s. Then he looked over at Ron, who had made the mistake Harry had been about to, and was now staring down at a sickly-grey concoction. Stirring is one of the easiest things to forget when making potions, and the confusing aura of this particular potion would make the simple task even more difficult to remember. That was the challenge of this potion, Harry thought; whether or not you could stay focused. But then that would mean Snape had helped him, actually _helped_ him! What on earth was that about?

Perhaps Snape was worried Harry would report him for abuse or something, and thought being “nice” would make him keep his mouth shut. As Harry bottled the rather excellent potion he thought once more about using the incident to his advantage, but decided against it. He didn’t like that underhanded and manipulative way of doing things. So just as planned, while everyone was packing up he let his bag slip onto the floor, spilling its contents everywhere.

“You guys go on, I’ll catch up,” he muttered as he bent to gather his things.

Ron shrugged and immediately turned to go, but Hermione lingered, glaring at Harry in suspicion. Harry just smiled and waved her away, and finally she followed Ron, who was waiting at the door.

“See you at lunch!” Ron called over his shoulder. 

Now Harry was alone in the room with Snape. Trying to calm his racing heart, he picked up his bag and walked over to the desk. Snape looked up in surprise at the sound of his approach. 

“Potter?” he said, so caught off-guard that he forgot to sneer the name.

Harry glared down at the professor, angry that he couldn’t conjure up the hatred he usually felt towards him. Snape stared back with a questioning look, and Harry thought he saw a flicker of foreboding in his eyes.

“It’s about last night,” Harry said.

Snape’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak. So Harry went on.

“We can pretend it never happened,” he said. “Go on like normal, and never speak of it again. Nobody ever has to know.”

Shock flickered across Snape’s cool composure. “I see,” he muttered.

Harry lingered in front of his desk, expecting more of an answer. But none came.

“Right,” he said awkwardly, “that’s settled, then,” and turned to leave.

“Potter, wait!” Snape shouted, rushing over to grab hold of Harry’s arm, pulling him around to face him. “What is the meaning of this, ‘pretend it never happened’ business?”

“It _means_ we can pretend it never happened!” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

“Does it indeed?” Snape sneered, “Or are you planning on using this-this incident as blackmail against me?”

“Ha!” Harry laughed. “Of course you’d expect that.”

“It’s what I would do, I admit,” Snape said with a shrug.

“But _I_ wouldn’t,” Harry said. “That would make me no better than a Slytherin.”

Snape fixed Harry with a scrutinizing glare, and Harry tried to ignore how that stare made his hands shake, and their intimacy sent Goosebumps all down his arms.

“Y-you should have guessed that, Snape,” he said, struggling to keep his forceful tone and glare. “After all, you’ve seen more of me than anybody else…haven’t you?”

He was referring to the Occlumency session, of course; Snape had seen so many of them, some of which even Harry hadn’t remembered. Snape’s eyes widened unperceptively at his words, and his grip on Harry’s arm tightened.

“Now I’d appreciate it if you let go of my arm,” Harry said, practically shaking with the intensity of emotion as he stared up into those fathomless eyes.

Snape did, and Harry hurried from the room without looking back.

“Thank you, Potter,” Snape said, again so softly that Harry wasn’t sure he’d heard it.

***

Snape’s thoughts:

_I’m not sure what I expected from you, boy. I’d played out all likely scenarios over and over in my mind, just so I wouldn’t be surprised. But I was surprised. Maybe because deep down, I believed you would use the incident as leverage…take advantage of me. And you refused to do that, because it would “make you no better than a Slytherin.” How damn noble of you Potter. A true Gryffindor. I can’t help but smile at the memory of you, at any memory of you. Because despite how cruel I’ve been to you, you’ve never been cruel to me. Arrogant, disrespectful, and stubborn, sure, but that’s hardly the same thing. I watch as you run from the dungeon, already missing the glare of those green eyes, and hating myself for it. Why do you make me feel this way, Potter? At first I blamed the little bit of your mother I saw in you—in your eyes—but somehow, that doesn’t feel like a valid excuse anymore. I whisper my thanks as you hurry away, not sure if you hear, not sure how you feel…about any of this. If I know you as well as you seem to think, then you’re probably just as confused and angry as I am. But…is it for the same reason? For this same crazy, wonderful, horribly wrong attraction I feel? That question will haunt me until I know for certain. I tear myself away from the door where you disappeared, and make my way to my office. And once again (and against my will), I burn with anticipation for when we next will meet._


	4. The Avalanche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an agonizing weekend, Harry finally decided to do the wonderfully insane thing and…confront Severus. What will happen down in that dark dungeon?

It was Monday morning, and Harry had had _enough_ ; the entire weekend had dragged by as painfully as a week with the Dursley’s, and the perpetually foul mood he seemed to have adopted for this year had increased, or rather, shifted. Unlike the anger he’d felt before—vague, foreign, and without cause—this was sharp, intimate, and he knew _exactly_ what caused it. Harry pondered what the cause of the change might be, and finally it occurred to him that his anger before now had been dregs from Voldemort seeping into his mind. But now, the anger was all his own. And how consuming it was! He couldn’t focus on anything, even Quidditch; his stomach had knotted itself into a stinging, dead weight, as though he were in a state of constant panic; and worst of all, he burned for the intimate company of Severus Snape.

History of Magic had offered no distraction whatsoever (though this was no surprise), and Potions was turning out to be absolute torture. He sat by his bubbling cauldron, trying not to stare at Snape and concentrate on the antidote he was brewing. Every few minutes Harry would make a show of doing something wrong, in hopes of Snape stopping him like he had on Thursday. But he didn’t.

So Harry continued sulkily through the lesson, giving his potion a bit more care than usual, in hopes of getting attention from Snape through good work, if bad work wouldn’t do it. As the class drew to a close, Harry leaned in to add the last ingredient—tincture of belladonna—when suddenly he felt the hand he’d longed for clasp his shoulder. The touch sent shivers down his body, and it was all he could do to keep the grin from his face.

“Careful now, Potter,” Snape muttered. “You mustn’t be so careless when selecting your ingredients. Look again.”

Harry did, and found to his astonishment that the little bottle was not labeled “tincture of belladonna,” but “tincture of opium.”

“You know what opium is, don’t you Potter?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Harry said. 

“If you added that ingredient, the ‘antidote’ would cause the victim to slip into a deep coma, one from which they may never awake, no matter how much rosemary and belladonna you shoved down their throat.”

Harry nodded, selecting the correct ingredient from his kit and adding the drops.

“Don’t think you can play games with me, Potter,” Snape whispered, his face just inches from his ear.

Harry shivered again, hands gripping the table. What was that supposed to mean? Had Snape somehow known that all the other times he’d been faking the mistakes? But how—? Ah, legilimency, of course. So did that mean Snape knew what he was trying to do? The thought made him blush. Then the bell sounded, everyone began filing out, and Harry cursed himself inwardly for how painful it was to tear himself away. Yes, something _must_ be done about this. Because if one thing was certain, it was that he longed to feel Snape’s lips against his again.

 

Defence Against the Dark Arts later that day gave Harry the opportunity to think. He knew he had some passionate feelings for Snape, and they were strong, there was no point in denying that. He also knew that Snape felt some sort of attraction to him in return. Whether they were the same feelings was the question; a question that Harry was determined to answer. He stared up at Snape at the staff table over dinner, feeling trepidation and excitement for his plan. As the puddings were served, Snape looked up and met Harry’s eyes. They sat there, staring at each other, neither willing to break the eye contact.

“Harry! _Harry!_ ”

“What?” Harry started, jerking around to see Hermione’s scrutinizing face.

“I was talking to you, haven’t you been listening?” she said.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Why were you staring at Snape?”

Uh oh. Harry’s stomach dropped down to his feet in panic.

“I wasn’t staring at Snape!” Harry said, hoping his tone wasn’t too defensive. “I was just—thinking. So what if I was looking in that direction?”

“Y’know Harry,” Ron said, looking a bit nervous. “You’ve been acting a bit odd lately, especially around Snape.”

“What the Hell are you talking about?” Harry asked, incredulous. No, they couldn’t be suspicious _this_ early in the game. The could never, _ever_ find out.

“This morning, for instance,” Hermione said, and Harry glared at her. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you pretending to make mistakes with your potion.”

“Yeah, Snape helping you the other day…what was that about?” Ron wondered. 

He still looked quite nervous, and Harry wondered if Hermione had put him up to this “confrontation.”

“That was an experiment!” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “I was surprised by what happened the other day as you were, and I was testing whether he’d do it again…to see if he did it out of guilt because of how badly Occlumency went last week.”

Ron was nodding, looking thoughtful, but Hermione was still staring him through narrowed eyes.

“Honestly, what kind of answer were you expecting?” Harry asked. 

Hermione thought for a moment longer, then looked down at her plate. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just thought it was odd.”

“Right,” Harry said curtly. “I’m going for a walk.”

And with that he stood and stormed away. When he reached the door to the entrance hall he looked back, scanning the staff table; Snape had already left. With a small, nervous smile, Harry set off towards the dungeons.

Harry could hardly believe what he was about to do, and his anxiety grew with every step. But he knew that no matter what happened, it would be better to know the truth than continue in this agony. He was glad he’d left dinner a bit early, as it meant the corridors were mostly free of Slytherins. At last, he reached his destination; the door to Snape’s office.

Here Harry paused, feeling his resolve falter. Despite his dwindling hatred, he still had a bit of fear for the Potions Master. What would his reaction be to what Harry was about to do? How could he be certain that Snape felt the same for him? 

_You can’t,_ Harry thought to himself. _You have absolutely no way of knowing anything for certain. But remember, he kissed you first_.

Harry swallowed hard, strengthening his resolve. Then before he could loose his nerve, pushed open the door and stumbled into the room. Snape was sitting at his desk, scratching away with his quill. He looked up at the sound of Harry’s hurried footsteps, and stared at the boy in shock. Harry stood just in front of Snape’s desk, glaring down into those black eyes and trying to control his breathing.

“What the hell are you doing here, Potter?” Snape asked.

He looked just as nervous as Harry felt, which gave the latter confidence to keep going. 

“I can’t do it anymore, professor,” harry said.

“Can’t do what anymore, Potter? If you’re talking about stopping the Occlumency lessons, I don’t—”

“This isn’t about the damn Occlumency lessons!” Harry growled, slamming a fist down on the desk. “Well…I suppose _part_ of it is.” He amended.

“Then…what _is_ this about?” Snape asked, looking uncomfortable.

“You said you didn’t want to play any games, sir. And neither do I.”

Harry walked slowly around the desk until he was standing beside Snape. Snape didn’t move a muscle, and continued to stare at the same spot as though Harry hadn’t moved. Harry could see his muscles tensed beneath his black robes…the fluttering vein in his neck. So he felt the tension between them too.

“Look at me,” Harry commanded. 

Snape did, slowly turning his head to meet Harry’s gaze, matching its intensity. Harry took a step closer, leaning in close so that their eyes were level.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Harry said again.

He reached out a hand and cupped it under Snape’s chin, tilting his face upwards. Then Harry brought his lips down to meet with Snape’s in their second kiss. 

Harry felt Snape stiffen beneath him, but he didn’t pull away. Harry took this as a good sign and deepened the kiss a bit, trying to spur Snape’s lips into movement against his own, and praying he wasn’t too sloppy (he’d only kissed one other person, after all). A moment later Harry broke the kiss, pulling back to look into Snape’s face; his eyes were clouded with desire. But he still hadn’t responded.

“C’mon Snape,” Harry said, a little agitated, “it’s okay. I told you before…nobody ever has to know.”

Then Harry kissed him again, more roughly this time. _Come on, come on. Respond to me!_

Snape held back for a moment longer, then (finally) gave in. He threw his arms around Harry, pulling him close, and kissing with an enthusiasm that made Harry gasp. Snape pulled him even closer, and Harry ended up straddling his lap.

 _That’s it_ , Harry thought in satisfaction. He moved his hands up to tangle in Snape’s hair, and found (to his surprise) that it was quite soft. Snape’s tongue ran along his lips, tapping at them like an owl at a windowpane. Harry moaned softly, letting his mouth open against Snape’s. The latter’s tongue slipped in, exploring the wet cavern and nudging against Harry’s own tongue. _I suppose two can play that game_. Harry’s tongue moved against Snape’s, battling it. Then he withdrew his tongue and nipped playfully at Snape’s lower lip, and was gratified with a deep moan from Snape. He clutched Harry tighter, leaning forward until they pitched forward out of the chair like an avalanche. Harry ended up on the stone floor, pinned beneath Snape. He stared up into those lovely dark eyes, waiting for more.

“You’re a fool to do this, Potter,” Snape said. 

“Should I be punished?” Harry said with a smirk.

“Yes,” Snape hissed, leaning down and biting at Harry’s lip, playing with it like a hungry animal.

Then he moved to explore Harry’s jaw, and the hollow of his neck, kissing and nuzzling and biting. It all felt more pleasurable than it had any right to. Harry groaned deeply, squirming beneath Snape, hands scrabbling at his sleek black robes. In that moment, Harry decided that he didn’t care; he didn’t care if it was wrong, what people would think, how painful this relationship might be, or even if it would lead him into darkness and destruction. This bliss far outweighed any of that. At that moment Snape’s hand began to snake beneath Harry’s shirt. It felt divine, but…

“Wait,” Harry said, grasping Snape’s wrist.

“What is it?” Snape asked, gazing down at him. 

“Could you let me up?”

Snape raised an eyebrow, but slid gently off him. Harry sat up, scooting closer to where Snape was sitting.

“I…I don’t want to go too far too fast,” Harry said.

Snape looked surprised. “Oh?” he said. 

Harry nodded.

“Then you’re much more level-headed than I took you for,” Snape mused. “So what is it you want?”

Harry blushed a bit under the intensity of Snape’s gaze. “I-I want to get to know you better,” he said.

Snape gave a half smile. “Well…we have Occlumency lessons Wednesday night…hours to ourselves to spend however you please.

Harry smiled, and leaned up for a goodnight kiss, to which Snape complied. Then Harry stood and turned to leave. 

“See you Wednesday…Severus,” the name felt nice on his tongue.

“Until then…Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, kisses and first-name basis! What could be more exciting?


	5. Mutual Lack of Hatred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harry descends to the dungeons for his Occlumency lesson, it does not become the amorous affair that Severus expected (and wanted). Instead, the two of them have an intense conversation in which secrets are revealed, feelings are tested, and honesty is the only way.

Two days is much too long, Severus decided. After their brief evening together two days previously, Severus’ desire for Harry had hardly been slated. He wasn’t worried anymore, but his lust consumed him. It was unbearable, only able to catch glimpses of the boy in the Great Hall and in the corridors. But now it was finally Wednesday night, and he would be coming soon.

Severus sat at his desk, ungraded essays stacked in front of him but he couldn’t concentrate on them. With a sigh he slipped them back into his desk drawer, and sat staring at the door, anticipation tingling in his stomach.

At last, Severus heard a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said, trying to hide his excitement.

The door swung open, and in stepped Harry; hair messy as always, robes slipping off one shoulder, glasses slightly crooked. He wasn’t smiling. He walked towards Severus with the same intensity he’d seen last time they were together. When the boy reached his chair, Severus stood and kissed his lips. Harry allowed him to, but didn’t respond to it. Odd.

“Something wrong?” Severus asked, a knot of worry forming in his stomach.

“I came here to talk,” Harry said.

Severus sighed and sat back down, wondering if Harry was regretting starting something with him. The thought twisted in his gut.

“Very well,” he said.

Harry hoisted himself up onto the corner of Severus’ desk and sat there, swinging his legs and staring into Severus’ face. The latter was held captivated by the boy’s green eyes.

“Now then Severus,” Harry said. “You know more about my life than I ever wanted anybody to know. So now you get to return the favor. Tell me something about your life.”

Severus’ eyes slipped from Harry’s to gaze across the room. _I don’t know what I should tell you. I’ve kept my life a secret for so long, and there are things you don’t want to hear…_ But he had to say something, and eventually he decided to say as little as possible. But he wouldn’t lie.

“You know I was a Death Eater?” Severus asked.

A frown creased Harry’s face. “You’re going to start with that?”

“Where else should I start?”

Harry didn’t seem to have an answer to this.

“Yes, I know you were. Dumbledore told me.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me!” Harry glared at Severus. “That’s why I hate you!”

Severus smirked. “If you hate me, then why are you here?”

Harry opened his mouth, but closed it again without speaking. He stared down at the floor, a blush creeping up his neck.

“I think Dumbledore’s a fool to trust you,” he muttered.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Harry met Severus’ eyes again, still frowning. “Dumbledore won’t tell me why he trusts you, so I want you to tell me.”

Severus stared in shock at the boy. Anger bubbled through his veins, twisting his face into the familiar sneer.

“Is that what this whole thing’s been about? Getting me to answer that question?” Severus shouted.

“So what if it was?” Harry shouted back.

“You said you wouldn’t use what happened as leverage! You made me—”

_you made me believe you shared my feelings for you…whatever those might be._ Severus finished the thought in his head. 

Harry was thrown off-guard by this, and stared at Severus, mouth slightly open. 

“I-I…no. No, it wasn’t about that,” Harry said. 

Severus relaxed a little, studying Harry. Try as he might, he couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling. He’d seen so many of his memories, but Harry was wrong; that did not make Severus know or understand him.

“What are you thinking?” Severus asked.

Harry looked surprised by the question. “Couldn’t you find that out yourself using legilimency?”

“I suppose…” Severus mused. “But I’d rather ask.”

“It’s never bothered you before,” Harry muttered under his breath.

Severus said nothing, and simply waited. After a few minutes Harry looked back up at him, a pained expression in his eyes.

“I-I’m in agony,” Harry murmured. “Agony over you. All the things you’ve done…that I know you’ve done…I have no explanation for any of it. By all rights I should hate you. But I…don’t. I…I want…”

Harry’s hands gripped the desk, knuckles standing out stark white against the dark oak. His voice began to quiver, but his eyes stayed dry.

“Why do you hate me? Why are you so cruel to me? I’ve never done anything to you.”

Severus felt a stab of remorse at Harry’s words. He knew why, but it didn’t feel like a good explanation. But it was the only one he had. He made a decision to tell him.

“You have your mother’s eyes,” Severus said softly.

Those same eyes stared at him, round with surprise.

“W-what does that have to do with anything?” Harry asked.

Lily and I were in the same year at school (maybe you knew that). We lived near each other, and I met her when I was nine. We grew up together. She she was my best friend…my only friend. And…and I loved her more than anything in the world.”

Harry’s face was a mask of shock. Severus felt the heat rising in his cheeks at his confession, and stood to open the cabinet behind his desk. From it, he pulled the stone Pensieve, in which he stored all the memories he didn’t want Harry to see during their Occlumency lessons. He set it on the desk and drew his wand, pressing it to his temple and pulling out a strand of memory. Then he dropped it into the basin and watched it swirl.

“Go on,” Severus said.

“What?” Harry asked, dumbfounded.

“Go on,” he said again, gesturing towards the Pensieve.

Harry looked at it, curiosity tracing his features. “What are you showing me?” he asked.

“One of the worst moments of my life,” Severus said.

Harry gave Severus another surprised look, then obediently dipped his head into the swirling silver smoke. Severus did not follow, for he had no desire to relive the memory in such vivid detail. Instead he waited, watching the scene play out on the surface. It was that day beneath the beech tree, of course. That ill-fated day when he’d called Lily a Mudblood. The minutes ticked by, and he saw a splash of red swirl into view. When the color faded, Severus grabbed Harry’s shoulder and pulled him from the Pensieve. Harry emerged looking totally shell-shocked, and stared at Severus with impossibly wide eyes.

“She never forgave me,” Severus said. “But I never stopped loving her. I knew the Dark Lord was looking for her, and I promised Dumbledore my loyalty in exchange for her protection. But—but that wasn’t good enough.”

The pained expression returned to Harry’s eyes as the shock faded.

“I hated your father and loved your mother, and here you are, so obviously the product of the two of them,” Severus gestured at Harry. It was agony to look into your face…sometimes it still is.”

Silence fell between them, each staring into the other’s eyes.

“I don’t hate you either, Harry,” Severus continued at last. “I wanted to, because that was easier than admitting…anyway. I won’t ask for your forgiveness, but I am sorry…for how I’ve treated you.”

Then Severus looked away, waiting with bated breath for Harry’s response. 

“You can kiss me if you want to…Severus,” Harry murmured.

_I’ll always want to_. Severus looked at Harry; his eyes were closed and he was leaning back, supporting his weight on his hands. Severus leaned forward, brushing the hair from Harry’s face. Then Severus brought his lips to Harry’s, administering a gentle kiss. A moment later he pulled back. 

“Look at me,” he said.

The green eyes met the black, looking curious and strangely misty.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Severus said. “Any…relationship between us will be dangerous and painful…for both of us. This is a warning; leave while you can, run away from this…from me. Because I _will_ hurt you.”

Harry grabbed ahold of the front of Severus’ robes and pulled him forward, their faces almost touching.

“Pain never frightened me,” Harry said.

Severus smiled. “Nor I,” he said.


	6. Occlumency Becomes Harry's Favorite Class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for more passion, sass, and kisses! We start where we left off in Severus' office, during what's "supposed" to be Harry's Occlumency lesson. Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?

“Because I _will_ hurt you.”

Severus’ words echoed in Harry’s mind, dredging up the seeds of doubt that still sat waiting in the back of his mind. But in almost the same instant Harry realized that he could never have expected anything else from the Potions Master. Of course he would hurt Harry! Harry would probably hurt him back, quite honestly. _really,_ Harry thought, _that isn’t anything new to us_. He let the flames of passion burn the seeds of doubt away, and vowed to never let them grow. Harry reached out and grabbed ahold of the front of Severus’ robes, pulling the man close to him, so that they were nose to nose.

“Pain never frightened me,” he said. And that was true.

The cold and calculating eyes glittered, and Severus smiled; a true smile, though small and hesitant.

“Nor I,” He said.

Harry’s grip on Severus’ robes tightened. Images of that awful memory still stuck in his mind, and the empathy he felt only served to strengthen his desire for the man. _Is that why you kissed me last time we had Occlumency? Because you understood?_

“Kiss me,” Harry demanded. “Kiss me like you did that first time—like you have nothing to lose.”

No further encouragement was needed. Severus kissed him with such ferocity that it nearly knocked Harry’s glasses off. Pleasure and excitement shot like electricity down Harry’s limbs, and he moaned against Severus’ eager mouth, letting his lips part slightly. Severus’ strong arms encircled him, holding him tight. Harry’s hands released Severus’ robes and entangled themselves in his soft black hair. Severus licked against Harry’s slightly parted lips, then darted into his mouth to nudge against Harry’s tongue. Harry moaned again and leaned back, letting himself fall to the mercy of Severus’ grasp. Severus responded by lowering him onto the desk, so he was lying flat against it with Severus standing over him. Harry wrapped his legs around Severus’ waist, pulling him ever closer, and eventually Severus gave it up and climbed on top of him.

The Potions Master was relentless in his desire; every kiss was rough and eager, every touch daring and full of want. He nuzzled Harry’s neck and the side of his face, kissing and biting and exploring. A hand stroked Harry’s thigh, squeezing and exploring, creeping under Harry’s shirt (but just a little). It all made flames dance beneath Harry’s skin, and made him wonder how he’d ever survived without Severus’ touch. The pleasure that it filled him with was overwhelming, and he felt as though he would die without it.

“S-Severus!” Harry gasped the name as the man ran his tongue along his neck, an act that sent shivers down his spine.

Severus pulled away then, looking down into Harry’s face with lust-filled eyes. They were both panting, their cheeks flushed. Harry gazed into Severus’ face, examining his features; the slightly hooked nose, pale skin, dark eyes, thin (but soft) lips, the hair that hung in his face like black curtains. He was sort of…beautiful, in his own way. Harry reached up to stroke that face, and Severus closed his eyes, cupping Harry’s hand in his.

“We should still practice Occlumency,” Severus murmured. “At least for a little while.”

Harry grimaced. “Why?”

“I actually _do_ want you to protect yourself. It’s just…before, you—you always made me too angry to do it right. I’ll be fair this time, I promise.”

Harry glared at Severus, but the man glared back with equal ferocity. 

“Ugh, fine,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

Severus chuckled quietly as he slipped off the desk and Harry followed, walking over to stand in his usual spot.

“Close your eyes,” Severus said.

Harry obeyed.

“Now breathe deeply, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Keep your shoulders, neck, and face relaxed. Let your mind be cleared.”

Harry did so, and (to his surprise) found himself starting to relax.

“Now open your eyes, and focus on a spot at eye level. Imagine that spot is all that exists in the world, that even the very air you breath comes from that spot. Concentrate.”

After a few minutes of this Harry realized, to his intense surprise, that his mind had cleared, becoming blank and…neutral.

“This is the more passive approach to Occlumency,” Severus explained. “It’s the method you’d use before going to sleep. Understand?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“Now for the more active, defensive method. This requires a lot of focus. First, you must anchor yourself.”

Harry raised a confused eyebrow.

“Think of it like…bracing yourself for an impact, or standing ready for a duel,” Severus said, barely suppressing an eye-roll.

Harry nodded, and positioned himself; right foot forward, fists clenched, shoulders and back tensed.

“Now…breath the same way you were before…keep calm. Don’t let emotions cloud your head.”

Harry took up the breath pattern once more, trying not to let apprehension and lust bleed through. The sooner he figured this out, the sooner they could get back to kissing, Harry figured.

“Got it,” Harry said through clenched teeth.

Severus fixed him with a searching glance, and Harry felt a peculiar prodding sensation, as though there was something he needed to remember.

“Well done, Harry,” Severus said after a minute. “I was trying to look into your mind, and you managed to keep me out.”

“What?” Harry said in astonishment. “But…but that was nothing like before—”

“This alone is enough to protect yourself against a casual search of your mind, Harry. Both the Dark Lord and I are capable of accessing someone’s mind through a stare…if that mind is open enough, as yours so often is.”

“I see…” Harry mused.

“But if you’re being attacked,” Severus continued, “you’ll need stronger defenses. Brace yourself again, and this time, reinforce your mind by imagining something impenetrable…like a battle fort, or a steel vault, or dragon scales. You can even attack your assailant by imagining weapons and using them against him. Now. We will practice as before. Ready?”

Harry gulped, his entire body tensing in anticipation. “Ready,” He said.

“Legilimens!” Severus cried. 

The spell hit Harry’s hastily constructed wall with more force than he was expecting, and blasted through it easily. He was soaring through the sky on the back of the Hippogriff Buckbeak…he and Cedric fought an acromantula in the maze… _No, I’ve got to keep him out_ …Ginny was lying apparently dead on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets… _got to fight him off, need a weapon_ …he took up the sword of Gryffindor and slayed the Basilisk… _Aha! The sword!_ Harry focused on the sword from the memory, picturing it floating in front of him, then flung it blindly forward into what he hoped was the invading force. He heard a shout, then immediately felt the invading force retreat. 

Harry gasped as he came back to his senses, breathing hard and shaking from the sudden release of strain. He looked up to see Severus leaning against his desk, hand clutched to his forehead.

“Did I hurt you?” Harry said, a hint of worry in his voice. 

“No! No, I…you just surprised me is all,” Severus said. He was also breathing a little heavy. “That…was quite impressive, Harry. It seems I underestimated you before.”

“You never gave me a chance before,” Harry said.

“You’re right. I’m…sorry.”

Harry crossed the room to stand in front of Severus, reaching out to stroke his hair.

“It’s alright,” He said. “I forgive you for that.”

“I don’t think I deserve that,” Severus muttered.

“And I don’t deserve to be treated foully, yet here we are,” Harry said. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

Severus does, wrapping his arms around Harry and pulling him on top of him, leaning back against the top of the desk once more. 

_I think I could learn to love this class_ , Harry thought.


	7. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So here's a question I'm sure every Snarry fan has had; what would Snape's reaction to Umbridge's idea of punishment be? And also, what would a sweet, loving moment between Snape and Harry look like? Well, here's a hint!

It’s funny how completely things can change in just a few days or even a few hours. Harry remembered times when he thought things would never change—that a year or even five could hardly make any difference. Of course, that was before he’d come to Hogwarts. Now there were so many times when his entire world had shifted in an instant, wracking up like points on a scoreboard. The latest change was of course his relationship with Severus Snape. If someone had told Harry even just a few days ago that he’d end up in the arms of the man he hated, he would have died laughing (or perhaps given the person an incredulous, disgusted look). But now here he was, descending the stairs to the dungeons without trepidation.

Ever since their inexplicable relationship had started, Harry had been going to visit Severus in his office almost every night. He found it surprisingly difficult to stay away, and Severus certainly wasn’t complaining. Usually the visits consisted of intense snogging sessions, with a break for Occlumency on Wednesdays. But sometimes they would just sit together and talk, or just enjoy each other’s company. Though they never said it, somehow they knew that both of them felt the other was the only person who could fully understand him. It was a wonderful feeling, being with someone like that, and Harry’s chest fluttered with excitement every time he went down to the dungeons. 

But tonight happiness evaded Harry as he slumped down the steps. The long-anticipated Quibbler article had come out that morning, and everyone in the entire school had read it, even the teachers. The mutterings had changed from being malicious to curious. While Harry was glad of the response, it had meant a detention with Umbridge; another few hours of writing lines in his own blood, and now his time with Severus cut short. Anger and resentment fueled his footsteps, but Harry also felt something else beneath the surface—hurt. He knew he could endure the cruel punishments, the whispering and the stares, but he couldn’t help but feel the hurt these things inflicted. 

When Harry got to Severus’ office he pushed open the door without knocking and hurried inside. Severus was pacing up and down in front of his desk, looking agitated. At the sound of Harry’s footsteps he looked up, and Harry could see relief flicker across his face. 

“I was afraid you weren’t coming,” Severus said, stepping towards him. 

“Well, here I am,” Harry said dully. 

The smallest hint of a frown creased Severus’ face, and Harry tried to relax, to be his usual self, but his mood was so low he couldn’t even muster a smile. 

“What’s wrong?” Severus asked, walking over to stand in front of Harry.

“Nothing,” harry muttered, eyes downcast. 

Harry felt Severus’ hand grasp his chin, tilting it upward, forcing him to meet scrutinizing black eyes. Harry’s vision blurred, and Umbridge’s face swam before his eyes, along with the strange black quill and the words carved into his hand; “I must not tell lies.” Harry heard Severus’ sharp intake of breath, and the memory faded. Once again he stared up into Severus’ eyes.

Severus grabbed ahold of Harry’s left hand and pulled up upward, carefully unwinding the stained scrap of t-shirt Harry had wound around it, revealing the raw and unfading marks. 

“ _This_ is what she’s been doing to you?” Severus asked, anger quivering in his voice. 

Harry didn’t answer. He hadn’t wanted to tell anybody besides Ron and Hermione, but at the same time, the sympathy would be nice. 

“Why haven’t you told Dumbledore about this?” Severus asked.

“Dumbledore has more important things to worry about,” Harry said, resentment barely disguised in his voice. 

Severus looked thoughtfully at him, head slightly tilted, calculating.

“I can stop this,” He said quietly.

 _How?_ Harry wondered. He didn’t doubt he could, but…

“No!” He said. “I don’t want her to think she’s getting to me. I can take it.”

“I know you can,” Severus said quietly. “One moment.”

Severus dropped Harry’s hand and went to one of the shelves, examining the various bottles and packets. Eventually he selected a small bottle of some amber-colored solution, and went over to sit at his desk, beckoning Harry to join him. Harry did so, and Severus pulled him into his lap. Taking up Harry’s injured hand again, he examined it more closely. Harry flinched at the touch.

“Sorry,” Severus murmured. Then he uncorked the bottle and tipped it over a cotton ball, allowing it to soak up a generous amount of the potion. Then, ever so gently, he dabbed it over the carved words. 

The stinging evaporated, and Harry sighed in surprised relief. Severus continued to dab, and Harry watched as the words faded, the skin becoming strong again. After a few minutes, Harry’s hand looked like the words had never been carved there. Satisfied, Severus tossed the cotton ball aside and put the bottle on the desk. 

“Come to me after she does this,” Severus said. “Please.”

Harry nodded. “I will.”

Severus’ arms encircled him, holding him tight. Harry felt him kiss the top of his head, burying his face in the boy’s hair. Harry let himself melt into his embrace, enjoying the comfort. And why shouldn’t he? For some reason Harry couldn’t he let go of the idea that accepting comfort meant admitting weakness. But…it didn’t feel like that with Severus. Maybe it was because Severus already knew so much of his pain—shared it even—and guessed at Harry’s secret desire for comfort. And was willing to give it.

After several minutes Harry tilted his head upward, lips searching for Severus’. The man knew what he wanted and complied, bringing their mouths together. Their kiss was slow and deep, eager and yet reserved. Harry was struck by how…loving it was. He wondered, was this love? Was this what love looked like, what it felt like? Was what he and Severus had _love?_

“I have to leave soon,” Harry whispered. “They’ll wonder where I am.”

Severus sighed, slowly letting his arms drop, releasing Harry from their tight hold. Harry stood and stretched, making his way towards the door.

“I know you’re probably tired of hearing this,” Severus said, “but please; try not to loose your temper in that woman’s class. I can’t bear the thought you sitting there with her, carving words into your flesh, when you could be here with me.”

Harry could hardly suppress a smile. “I’ll do my best,” he said. 

“Based on what I’ve seen the past five years, the assurance that you’ll do ‘your best’ doesn’t overwhelm me with confidence.”

Though it was subtle, Harry recognized the teasing note, and laughed to himself as he made his way back to Gryffindor tower.


	8. Down by the Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we have another deep, get-to-know you conversation, in which we take a walk by the lake and an old flame is stamped out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you no doubt remember reading chapter eight already, but it being quite different. And you are right. But I decided to make a few changes to the story, therefore the intense, lusty chapter you read before is being moved forward in time. It still exists and will still happen, just after a few more chapters. Sorry for any confusion!

Harry awoke early on Saturday morning to sunlight streaming through the windows. He groaned and stretched, grasping clumsily for his glasses that sat on the bedside table. He checked his watch, which showed half past seven. Despite the earliness of the hour, Harry felt quite energetic, so he slipped quietly out of bed and padded over to the window. From there he could see the castle grounds stretched out before him, the bright sun glaring off the lake, the nearly cloudless blue sky; it promised to be a lovely day. Perhaps he would have an early breakfast and go for a walk around the grounds.

A few minutes later Harry was fully dressed and heading towards the Gryffindor table. The Great Hall was fuller than he’d expected it to be so early on a weekend. As he had no wish to talk to anybody, he sat at the far end of the table, away from all the other Gryffindors. Then he grabbed a handful of toast and began spreading them with butter and jam.

As Harry ate, his mind wandered back to his time spent with Severus the night before. He was just replaying a particularly pleasant bit over in his head when someone prodded his shoulder and said, “Harry!”

“Huh?” Harry said, turning towards the voice to see none other than Cho Chang sitting beside him.

She smiled at him when he met her eyes. “Hello, Harry,” she said.

“Er...hi,” he said. “How are you?”

“Alright,” she said, “you?”

“Alright.”

An awkward silence fell between them. Harry really wished he didn’t have to do this. He’d been perfectly content to just let their relationship drop, why did she have to complicate it? 

“Can I help you with something?” he asked.

Cho’s smile slid from her face like a footprint washed away by the tide.

“You haven’t talked to me in a long time,” she said. “I know I was mad at you for a while, but I thought I’d made it clear that I wasn’t mad anymore.”

Harry supposed she was talking about what she’d said the day his article had been published, and the kiss she’d given him. God, this wasn’t going to be easy, was it?

“Right,” Harry said. “Listen, Cho,” now what was a tactful way to phrase this? “I’m glad you aren’t still angry, but—” _come on, just say it!_ “I…I don’t think we should see each other. I just don’t think we’re a good fit.”

Cho’s eyes began to well up. _Oh please not this again!_ Harry braced himself for another explosion like the one in the tea shop.

“Oh. I see,” Cho said, her voice a bit higher than normal. “I’ll just hurry up and get out of your sight then.”

“Cho, please, don’t be like that! I’ve got nothing against you, I just don’t think we’d…y’know…work well together.”

“No, I get it,” she said stiffly. “Have a nice life!” And with that she rushed out of the hall.

Harry let out an exasperated sigh as he returned to his breakfast, and tried to put Cho out of his mind. After a few minutes of agitated fidgeting he gave it up as a bad job and made his way towards the grounds, thinking a walk would help clear his head. 

It was indeed a beautiful day, warm for February. The sun was bright and the air smelled clear and fresh. He started around the lake, walking along its banks towards the outer trees of the Forbidden Forest, trying to pretend like he didn’t have a pile of essays to finish for next week. When he reached the edge of the forest he sat down on an old fallen tree, looking out over the lake. On the far side he thought he saw the giant squid paddling about in the shallows, but he couldn’t be sure. 

“You really enjoy seclusion, don’t you Potter?” 

Harry jumped at the voice, whipping around to see Severus standing next to him, looking down at the boy with a slight hint of a smirk on his face. Harry hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Harry snapped, glaring at Severus. 

Severus chuckled a bit at Harry’s reaction. “Unobservant as ever,” he said. “If you’d have been paying attention to your surroundings you would have seen me coming.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and looked back out at the water. He felt Severus sit down beside him but he didn’t look up. 

“How are you?” Severus asked.

“Fine, why?” Harry said, a bit defensively.

“I saw you talking to Miss Chang this morning. You both looked upset.”

Harry blushed a bit. So he’d been watching, had he?

“It’s nothing,” Harry said.

“Hm,” Severus said.

Harry thought the noise sounded skeptical, and a sudden thought struck him. He’d always wondered whether Severus was ever…“Are you jealous of her?” he said accusingly, turning towards him.

Severus looked at Harry with complete astonishment. “Jealous?” he said with a sneer. “Why on earth would I be jealous of that _girl_?”

Harry blushed a bit more. “I dunno,” he said quietly. He hadn’t really been expecting such an adamant answer.

“You don’t even like her,” Severus said.

“I know,” Harry wondered, did that mean…? “Do…I mean, would you say…do men not get jealous?”

There. He’d said it. And he had the crimson color in his cheeks to prove how much he’d wondered about the answer. Harry could feel Severus’ eyes on him, but he didn’t look up. After a moment he felt Severus’ hand slide over his.

“They’re usually just better at hiding it,” Severus said. “However, I’ve never been the jealous type.”

Harry met his eyes then. “Really?” he asked.

“Really,” Severus said.

Harry smiled. He should’ve know that Severus was more rational than that.  
“Considering she was your only other relationship, I can see why you expected that,” Severus said. “It’s no wonder you completely changed your tune after a few dates with her.”

“Shut it,” Harry said, hitting him playfully on the arm and blushing again. “Let’s talk about something else. Anything else.”

“Well then, why don’t you tell me about the DA?”

Harry’s jaw fell open in shock. He stared up into Severus’ scrutinizing black eyes, and felt a flicker of fear grip his chest.

“H-how do you know about that?” Harry stammered.

Severus chuckled again. “Do you really think you can keep secrets from me?”

“Alright then, how long have you known about it?”

“A few weeks,” Severus said with a shrug. “During an Occlumency lesson I saw a flash of an unfamiliar room, full of bright spells. It was only for an instant, but it was enough to grab my interest. One day I followed you to the seventh floor corridor and found the strange room, and watched the many students gather there. I put two and two together.”

“Okay, but how did you know what the group was called?” Harry asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Eavesdropping,” Severus said, “using extendable ears.”

“You’ve bought products from _Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes?_ ” Harry shouted in absolute incredulity. Now he’d heard it all!

“But of course,” Severus said smoothly, lips twisted in a smirk. “As much as I hated those two as students, I cannot deny that they are quite…inventive. And I can certainly appreciate self-invented spells, after all I…”

Severus cut himself short, as though he’d been about to reveal a secret. Harry gave him quizzical look, but Severus hurried on.

“Anyway, many of their products are quite useful.”

“Well if you were willing to go though all that trouble to find out about the DA I might as well tell you about it,” Harry said. “I’m sure you’ve noticed Umbridge’s completely impractical teaching methods?”

Severus’ face darkened. “Indeed. Go on,” he prompted.

“Well, it was Hermione’s idea, actually. She thought we needed to educate ourselves about defensive magic, if Umbridge wouldn’t. What with everything that’s happened. And she suggested that…that I teach them…whoever wanted to learn, that is.”

“You?” Severus said with a mocking tone.

“Don’t belittle me Severus, you know I’m capable of more than the rest of the Order seem to think!” Harry glared up at the potions master. Honestly, he was a bit surprised by his own words, considering what his reaction had been when Hermione first suggested it. But it was true. “I’ve had as much experience with the dark arts as any of them.”

“But not as much as me,” Severus said.

Harry shook his head slowly, smiling without humor. “No…never as much as you.”

The two gazed at each other for a long time, reading each other, speaking without words. Then Severus relaxed a little, reaching out a hand and cupping Harry’s face. With one pale finger he traced the outline of Harry’s scar. He’d done this several times before, and each time he did a flicker of some repressed emotion passed over Severus’ face. Pain? Sadness? Guilt? Harry wasn’t sure. He reached up and took that hand in his own, pulling it down to his lips and kissing it. 

“Will you tell me something?” Harry asked.

“What?”

Harry hesitated. This was something he’d been wondering for a long time, and he didn’t know what kind of an answer he’d get, or if Severus would even give him one. 

“You said you made a deal with Dumbledore to ensure my Mum’s protection. What was the deal? What is it you do for him?”

To Harry’s disappointment, Severus’ face hardened. 

“I can’t tell you that,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because despite your improvement, you are still a sub-standard Occlumens, and I cannot risk my position by spilling all my secrets into your ever-open mind!” Severus’ voice was rather callous.

“I see,” Harry said, his voice hard.

He stared down into his lap, anger stinging in his stomach. He heard Severus sigh heavily and felt him place a hand on his shoulder, but Harry shifted away from his touch.

“Harry, don’t be like that,” Severus implored. “It’s not that I don’t think you can’t handle the truth, it’s just…I don’t want to tell you, because I hate what I do.”

Harry glanced up at Severus, who was glaring out across the water, fists clenched.

“I hate it,” Severus murmured, almost to himself. 

Harry slid back towards Severus and took his fist in his hands. “Are you afraid?” he asked.

Severus didn’t answer, but Harry guessed the answer was yes. He leaned his head towards Severus, reaching up to meet his lips in a kiss. Severus wrapped one arm around his waist, pulling him closer. After a minute Harry stood and held out his hand.

“C’mon, let’s go back up to the castle,” he said. “If we stick close to the trees nobody should spot us from the windows.”

Severus took his hand and walked with Harry, the two of them enjoying the other’s company.


End file.
